


Beautiful, for You

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [9]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bondage, Double Penetration, F/F, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Lingerie, Praise Kink, Threesome, Trans Dorothea, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 13:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Mercedes and Dorothea are overwhelmingly beautiful—and, well, just plain overwhelming, if Ingrid's being honest, but she thinks she likes that.[Kinktober Day 9 - Bondage, Lingerie]





	Beautiful, for You

**Author's Note:**

> [worldbuilding braincell] Either this is a modern AU, or Fodlan has some damn decent gender transition technology/magic and also something that approximates to stoplight colors for safewords. [/end worldbuilding braincell]
> 
> Also: It's Poly 3H Hours

Alright, so Ingrid _might _have gotten in over her head, with this.

It seemed like a good idea, on paper—or maybe that’s just the effect Dorothea has on people, when she starts explaining her ideas and it’s like a siren’s song, confident and easy to follow. Mercedes, well—Mercedes is a different kind of convincing, holding her hands sweetly in front of her body as she smiles, never once forcing the issue or being anything short of validating, reminding Ingrid that it’s alright to disagree or to take her time thinking before she decides. So naturally, Ingrid agreed immediately, because that’s precisely what one does when told they can take their time, clearly.

It must be obvious, from how she’s fidgeting, that Ingrid is still a bit uneasy. Mercedes leans forward from her seat on the edge of the bed and clasps Ingrid’s hand gently; her thumb strokes the edge of the leather cuff around her wrist, and Ingrid fights not to shiver. “Ingrid, are you certain you’re comfortable?” Mercedes says softly, an air of worry in her eyes as she looks up to meet Ingrid’s gaze. “You remember what Dorothea told you, right? What to say if you’re not sure about something?”

Ingrid takes a deep breath, focusing on the way Mercedes’s thumb rubs soft circles against her palm. She still feels terribly exposed in the “outfit” Dorothea chose for her—it’s more a collection of white leather straps than clothing, save for the lacy white underwear and thigh-high stockings that Ingrid really can’t imagine suit her somewhat-boyish form. She’s keenly aware of the cool metal rings against her hips, and the meaningful placement of them in combination with the cuffs on her wrists—it’s not hard for her imagination to wander.

“I do,” she recalls softly, “Red to stop, yellow to slow down… I remember.”

“Good, good,” Mercedes hums in her airy, easy way, still drawing light patterns in Ingrid’s hand. “So just relax, Ingrid. You’re safe with us.”

Ingrid knows it’s true, but she sighs still. The odd feeling doesn’t fade, especially when she looks down at Mercedes and just how fantastically her ample breasts fill out the elegant lingerie she wears—white with the slightest accents of bolder blue, it fits her perfectly and leaves a conflicted taste on Ingrid’s tongue. “I just don’t feel like all this suits me,” she admits quietly, a small frown on her lips. Large, gentle eyes blink up at her; Ingrid inhales through her nose as she explains. “All the fancy patterns, and the lace…”

“It looks _lovely _on you, sweetie,” Dorothea’s voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin; Ingrid glances quickly over her shoulder at the other woman, only for her jaw to fall slack at the sight of her. Dorothea is _gorgeous _and far more colorful than both herself and Mercedes combined—and it shows in the black leather corset that underscores her bare breasts, with a strap running between them to emphasize her cleavage all the more, and the striking red ribbons that hold it all together. Equally bold black garters, sheer black tights and no panties at all, brazenly revealing her cock—Dorothea giggles as Ingrid looks her up and down in some kind of stupor.

“Speechless, are we?” Dorothea chuckles as she slides closer, her steps elegant and sure.

Ingrid feels a bit mouselike, next to Dorothea’s overwhelming presence. “Ah… wow… you look amazing, is all.” Her voice is smaller than she’d like, too, and Mercedes squeezes her hand gently in reassurance.

“Hehe, you really do have such an impeccable eye for fashion, Dorothea,” Mercedes offers breezily; she tugs Ingrid slightly toward her as she settles more comfortably on the bed.

Dorothea puts a hand to her lips as she smiles, flattered. “I’m used to dressing to impress men, but…” She steps close and cradles Ingrid’s jaw in her dainty fingers, and Ingrid thinks she may faint. “I could really get used to you looking at me like that, you know?”

There’s a pause, but Ingrid is too tongue-tied to fill it. Dorothea brushes a hand through short, blond locks. “But, you’ve _got _to give yourself a bit of credit, too, Ingrid. You’re nothing short of captivating… it’s such a shame you don’t seem to see it.”

Mercedes pipes up, “It’ll make more sense if we show her, don’t you think?”

Ingrid very nearly squeaks; Dorothea hums in agreement. Dorothea’s hand wanders through her hair and down to the nape of her neck; she reveals the hand she’d kept behind her back and the thin band she carries. A white collar with a simple ring at the front—Ingrid gasps slightly as Dorothea fits it around her neck with the utmost care.

“Perfect,” Dorothea chimes, her voice almost musical. Ingrid reaches up to touch the edge of the leather, feeling the flush on her cheeks deepen as she does. She opens her mouth to say something, though she’s still terribly tongue-tied on what, but Dorothea taps a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to say anything at all, dear. Just nod if you’re okay.”

Ingrid swallows, and nods enthusiastically. Her hesitations are all ridiculous, and even if she said them aloud, neither Dorothea nor Mercedes would let her insecurities by with a free pass—and that’s probably a good thing, objectively speaking.

“Good,” Dorothea hums as she settles in behind Ingrid, gently pushing her toward Mercedes’s lap. Ingrid obliges and climbs atop Mercedes, who catches her hand and entwines their fingers together to stabilize Ingrid’s position. A hand settles on Ingrid’s hip, tracing the same feather-light patterns there as Mercedes did in her palm before; there’s a soft clicking sound as Dorothea takes her wrists and cuffs them to the belt along her waist, but the bindings aren’t so short that Mercedes can’t keep a hold on her hand.

“Isn’t it easier to just relax, knowing someone else will take good care of you?” Mercedes hums like she knows what she’s talking about, and Ingrid suspects that she does; she stammers some sort of agreement, but Dorothea’s hand slips over her mouth again.

“Shh, you don’t have to answer. This isn’t a test,” Dorothea teases; she strokes Ingrid’s back, leaving a trail of skittering electricity where her fingertips follow Ingrid’s spine, and presses a fingertip insinuitively between Ingrid’s lips. “Maybe I should’ve brought a gag? But that might make it harder to hear your pretty voice when you’re moaning for us…”

Ingrid parts her lips and lets Dorothea’s finger slip into her mouth, followed by a second—a little whine forms in her throat, much to her embarrassment, but Dorothea only giggles as she presses her lips to the nape of Ingrid’s neck. Mercedes pulls her a little closer, wrapping an arm around Ingrid’s slender hips and encouraging Ingrid to settle more comfortably atop her; it’s surprisingly easy, when Mercedes’s skin is soft and warm and Dorothea’s kisses are so gentle along her shoulderblades. The tense line of Ingrid’s back eases into a relaxed arc as she leans into Mercede’s gentle hold, against her soft, full breasts. Soft breaths fall from parted lips, just past Dorothea’s inquisitive fingers, absent and heated.

“Oh? You look like you’re finally getting comfortable,” Mercedes says airily as she nuzzles at the crook of Ingrid’s neck.

“Right? And you’re even prettier when you relax,” Dorothea purrs as she rises up to get a look at Ingrid’s face; Ingrid realizes she’d started to zone out a bit, and blinks rapidly when Dorothea meets her gaze.

Mercedes agrees with a soft, wordless sound, and releases Ingrid’s hand so that she can instead cup a lace-clad breast; Ingrid’s breath hitches. “These, too,” she mumbles as she kneads gently at sensitive flesh. Ingrid sighs and lets herself melt into the touch, prompting Dorothea’s hands to explore her in turn.

The fingers remove themselves from her mouth as unobtrusively as they’d come and instead trail their way down to Ingrid’s other breast; Ingrid feels dizzy trying to keep track of all the hands, the touches on her chest and her hips and her back, all so slow and pondersome and gingerly that they leave her trembling and quietly desperate for more.

Dorothea kisses the scars on her shoulders reverently, and rather than the sting Ingrid’s used to from them, they seem to light up with a different kind of flame. Mercedes slips a hand beneath her bra to roll silk-smooth fingertips around a stiffened nipple; Ingrid’s wrists tug at their bonds forgetfully, desperate to cling on to something. And at every opportunity, they both sing soft praises—how soft Ingrid’s skin is, how good she’s being, how pretty her moans are—and Ingrid, left with no choice to the contrary, drinks them in eagerly.

There’s something nice about that, if a bit mind-numbing and heady: she can simply bask in the praises and the touches, because there’s truly no expectation or ability for her to do anything _else_.

“Oh, and so _wet _for us, too—” Dorothea eases her lacy undergarments aside and strokes the folds of flesh between her legs, and Ingrid whines uselessly as she arches into Mercedes. “Look, Mercedes,” she holds her fingers up, glistening with Ingrid’s fluids, and a thrill of embarrassment flashes through Ingrid’s chest, “she’s gotten so cute and eager, don’t you think?”

Mercedes hums thoughtfully, a grin tugging at her lips as she runs a hand through Ingrid’s hair. “Mhm, she’s being such a good girl… oh, Ingrid?” The question is a bit absent; she glances up at Ingrid’s flushed, dazed expression. “Do you think you could take both of us? Would you like that, dear?”

Goddess, the idea is too hot when Mercedes says it like that; Ingrid sucks in a deep breath and nods steadily. “Yes,” she manages, just to be perfectly clear; it’s clearly enough, because Mercedes pulls her down into a gentle kiss rather than letting her say anything more.

“This might feel a bit strange at first, okay?” Dorothea assures her softly as she rests her chin on Ingrid’s shoulder. There’s a sound of a bottle opening, and moments later the cool sensation of Dorothea’s fingers nudging at her rear—Ingrid gasps against Mercedes’s lips, surprised by how the feeling isn’t unpleasant in the slightest.

Strange, perhaps, yes—Ingrid shudders and leans into Mercedes harder as a finger slips inside of her—but certainly not _bad_. Mercedes purrs reassurances and shifts so that she can pull an arm beneath her breasts, lifting them up and emphasizing their weight unintentionally. “Ingrid… would you mind helping me a bit, too?” She nudges her tit toward Ingrid’s spit-slickened lips; Ingrid gives a small mumble of understanding and extends her tongue to lick experimentally at Mercedes’s stiff, puffy nipple.

Mercedes gives a content sigh, and Ingrid takes it as another praise; she swirls her tongue around stiffened flesh ardently, occasionally suckling. Dorothea purrs her approval without words and slips another finger inside; she slots herself against Ingrid’s back, heat radiating from her skin and especially her breasts and her now-erect cock, and her other hand takes to teasing Ingrid’s nipples again in turn.

“So patient—not too much more, now,” Dorothea lilts, crooks her fingers before easing a third oil-slicked digit inside of Ingrid: Mercedes takes the opportunity to reach for her toy. Ingrid can see, from the corner of her eye, how easily Mercedes slips one end of it into herself with a fluttering moan—a testament to how slick she’d been just from tending to Ingrid—which leaves the other end of the U-shape of the toy protruding stiff and ready from between her legs.

Considering how much Dorothea’s fingers alone already seem to be stretching her, yet leaving her completely unfulfilled at the same time, Ingrid can only imagine what being filled up by _both _of them will be like with a pitiful, throaty whine.

Mercedes sighs, and giggles in the next breath. “That’s right, just a little bit…” She breathes softly, puffs her chest out a bit more on the exhale so Ingrid can continue near-worshipping her breasts. Ingrid obliges gladly, drinking in the hot little gasps Mercedes offers; soon enough, though, Mercedes stops her to instead ease her hips astride Mercedes’s own.

“Do you think she’s ready, Dorothea?” Mercedes asks softly, and Dorothea hums against Ingrid’s neck.

“I think so,” she purrs, slipping her fingers out from inside of Ingrid; the momentary sense of emptiness rings loud in Ingrid’s fuzzy thoughts. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Ingrid whines a terribly pitiful “yes, _please_” and Dorothea can only chuckle. Mercedes goes first, lifting Ingrid’s hips and easing her down onto the toy—Ingrid moans readily, the stretch of it easy and comfortable. Mercedes purrs as she steadies Ingrid’s hips, holding her close, and lets Ingrid lean completely against her to give Dorothea easy access to her backside.

With a purr, Dorothea accepts the invitation, pressing herself tight against Ingrid’s back once again as she lines her length up with Ingrid’s entrance. Ingrid gasps at the pressure as Dorothea nudges against her—she’s already so full, but her addled mind only finds the prospect of _more _to be terribly enticing. Dorothea presses inside slowly, panting as she does; her hand winds into Ingrid’s hair, and Ingrid cries out at the sheer pressure.

“Ingrid?” The question is expectant and sweet against the shell of her ear.

“Good,” Ingrid manages in way of an answer, the sound wet and wanting.

Dorothea sighs as she holds Ingrid close, her form quivering slightly. “Good, _yes_—oh, you’re so _tight_, Ingrid,” she says faintly, her lips clasping softly around Ingrid’s earlobe. “You’re doing _so _well, darling. I’m going to move now, alright? Let us know if it hurts.” Ingrid nods, trying her best to understand the words—but Mercedes is caressing her hips and Dorothea’s mouth is awfully distracting at her neck.

To her surprise, though, it doesn’t hurt—it’s a _lot_, certainly, but Dorothea sets such an easy rhythm and Mercedes is content to simply follow along, and it’s far more fulfilling than it is painful. Ingrid moans breathlessly and Dorothea mutters sweet praises against her ear, an endless stream of reassurances that Mercedes occasionally reaffirms in soft breaths amid low moans and panting. Ingrid wants it to last, but her body gives in too quickly to the rush of sensation—she comes with a shudder, heat bursting through her chest and her vision, but Dorothea and Mercedes only barely give pause for it.

“Oh my, perhaps we teased you too much…” Mercedes sighs softly, stroking Ingrid’s hip reassuringly.

“D-don’t stop, _please_,” Ingrid whimpers as Dorothea slows her thrusts; she casts a pleading look over her shoulder, and Dorothea smiles softly.

“Of course,” she agrees easily, keeping her pace steady for a moment more before speeding back up. “Anything you want, dear,” Dorothea whispers and Ingrid whimpers again, her hands twitching against the cuffs in futility. Right, she can’t take matters into her own hands—she has to simply let them do this, and just enjoy the ride for all that it’s hot and overwhelming and goddess, she’s just so _full_—

It doesn’t take long for her to come again, much harder this time, like a burst of fire magic more than a steadily-rising ember; Mercedes follows shortly after with such a quiet moan that Ingrid could’ve easily missed it were her senses not hyper-focused on this moment. Dorothea pulls out as Ingrid melts into Mercedes’s grasp; the three of them fall into a heap of limbs on the bed, and Dorothea strokes herself just a few times before she, too, finishes with a low groan against Ingrid’s chest.

Ingrid comes down to the sound of her cuffs being undone, to Mercedes’s fingers running gently through her hair as she mutters more praises and assurances of just how well Ingrid did, and how happy she is. Dorothea snuggles up to Ingrid’s side like a pleased cat as Ingrid lays against Mercedes’s chest, panting slowly as she tries to remember where each of her limbs are.

“Thank you, Ingrid,” Dorothea mumbles contentedly, nuzzling into her chest. “That was lovely. And you, too, Mercie.”

Ingrid isn’t really sure what she deserves thanks for, but she can’t stop herself from grinning anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> there were at least 600 words of Just Useless Lesbian Thoughts here and that's really valid, Ingrid
> 
> ...also Dorothea's about to sneak into like 3 prompts in a row and, I can't be blamed for this, you give me a competent hot girl who can dom and I become such a simple gay,


End file.
